


Just a Little Lovin': Howard's Story

by doodledinmypants



Category: Just a Little Lovin'
Genre: 1980's, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Based on a LARP, F/M, HIV/AIDS, Hand Jobs, LARPing, M/M, Oral Sex, Suicide, bad dom, death/dying, meta fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-12-17 15:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11854485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodledinmypants/pseuds/doodledinmypants
Summary: Pepper's Diner caters Mr. T's big Fourth of July party every year, which means Howard sees a lot of the sort of people who attend such a party: leather daddies, drag queens, lesbians, hippies, has-been's, and might-be's. When he decides to do more than just observe from the kitchen, he enters a world that he can never leave.Desire. Fear of Death. Friendship.There are hundreds of stories at Mr. T's party. This one is Howard's.





	1. Prologue and Act 1: Desire

**Author's Note:**

> I did not write Just a Little Lovin': the LARP (live action role play), nor did I write the song by the same title as sung by Dusty Springfield. I did participate in the first North American run of JaLL in August 2017, and it was without a doubt the most intense, emotional, educational, and satisfying role play I've ever experienced. This fiction is based on my own experiences in the LARP, which have been edited and embellished for the sake of story flow. All sex scenes were based on simulated sex play that was negotiated between players and involved explicit consent and setting of boundaries, even if the sex itself was a bit shady at times. Please be advised that this LARP, and thus this story, are set in the early 1980's during the AIDS crisis in New York. This is some heavy stuff.

Prologue

  
“You don’t have to do that,” said Harriet, but they both knew Howard wanted to. He cupped her hips between his hands and rubbed his scruffy cheek along her inner thigh, drawing a low moan from her throat. When he took her cock into his mouth, he felt like he was home. The voices faded to whispers.

_Howard dreamed about a turtle shell rising from the ocean. It opened, and Harriet emerged as Venus, the surf foaming about her feet. When he reached for her, she sank back into the sea. He was left with fists full of sea foam and an aching hard-on._

When he woke up in the tiny loft above the diner, Harriet was gone again.

…

 

Act 1: Desire

 

“Your aura is clouded today,” Pepper observed. His floppy auburn hair was held at bay with an orange silk scarf, and his necklace bristled with crystal points. He drained a pot of black beans over the sink. “What’s bothering you, Howard?”

“You already know,” Howard muttered, stirring the rice. “It doesn’t take an aura reader to notice when Harriet’s gone on one of her walkabouts.”

“Have you had any visions lately?”

Howard sighed and glanced at Priest, but she only shrugged and turned back to the vegetables she was chopping. “Not really? I had a dream, though…”

He excused himself before Pepper could ask him about it, setting plates and silverware out along the buffet. “Ugh, who even invited her to the party?!” shrieked an indignant voice. Howard nearly dropped the tray of spoons he was carrying. He scuttled back into the kitchen.

“Drama’s already starting,” he snickered. Priest rolled her eyes. “Man, that’s exactly what I don’t need right now. I’m just gonna take it easy tonight, have a couple beers.”

“I think I’ll go enjoy the party, too. After dinner cleanup, of course,” Priest said. She smoothed her hands over her magenta dress, better suited for dancing than dishes, but when did any of them have time to change?

“Oh, you’ll love it! Mr. T throws the best parties. The drag show is lots of fun; those queens know how to have a good time.”

“As long as you’re both back in time to help me with the green drink,” Pepper reminded them.

“That weird shit the hippies make?” Howard whined, “Why can’t they serve it themselves?”

“They’re using our glasses, and it’s what Mr. T is paying us for. Just be back by a quarter to midnight, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

A tall man dressed all in black leather, from the harness criss-crossing his bare chest to the tight-fitting pants, came through the kitchen just then. “Hey, Pepper, good to see you. When’s dinner?”

“Hi there, Andrew. Seven o’clock. Have you met Priest and Howard?”

Priest waved the hand holding the chopping knife, and Howard wiped a hand on his apron to offer it for a shake.

“Nice to meet you. And, uh, nice… leather.”

Andrew gave Howard a firm handshake, then looked him over in a way that made Howard’s face feel hot. He drew Howard in by the hand and planted a kiss on each cheek. “A pleasure,” he murmured. Then, he exited the kitchen, and Howard stared after him.

“Is he European or something?” Howard asked when his mouth worked again.

“I think he likes you,” teased Priest.

“You should talk to him some more,” suggested Pepper. “You might have fun.”

Howard’s face flushed crimson. “I have a girlfriend!” he snapped. “And I’m not gay!”

Pepper and Priest exchanged a look that made Howard growl in frustration. He grabbed a beer from the concessions stand and popped the tab. “Just for that, I’m starting now,” he announced, chugging back nearly half the can in one go.

Bret poked his blond head into the kitchen. “Hey, guys! You doing okay without me?”

Howard brightened immediately. Bret had been helping out as a dishwasher on evenings and weekends at the diner, and he was always good company. Also he was cute as hell, not that Howard had noticed or anything. “Hey, Bret, my dude! Yeah, we’re good. Burrito bar is easy. You just enjoy the party.”

“That was the plan,” Bret laughed. “No offense, Pepper, I’m grateful for the job but I don’t want to see a single dirty dish tonight.”

Pepper inclined his head. Then, Pepper froze, and a very un-zen-like expression crossed his face.

“Oh, great,” he muttered. Howard peered around the kitchen door and spotted Ruben, with another young man on his arm. Howard felt an odd flutter behind his breastbone; Ruben had taken him fast and dirty behind the kitchen three years ago, and sure knew how to make a man feel like heaven. Howard hadn’t realized at the time that Ruben was Pepper’s brother, however, and Ruben didn’t seem to remember the encounter at all. That was all before Harriet, of course.

“Did you know he sent me a card for my birthday? With a twenty in it?” Pepper sounded completely affronted. “He can’t buy my affection.”

“Why don’t you just talk to him?” asked Priest. “He obviously cares about you.”

“Yeah, and hey, twenty dollars isn’t anything to sneeze at. You could buy a new pair of shoes.” Howard looked down at his own worn sneakers with longing.

“My shoes are fine. And it’s beside the point,” Pepper sniffed. “He’s a capitalist, corporate shill and he doesn’t even care! He used to have such a beautiful aura, but now… I don’t understand how he can live like that.”

“Pretty comfortably?” Priest offered. Pepper glowered.

…

After dinner was served and dishes were cleaned, Howard glanced up from wiping down kitchen surfaces to see another familiar face: Steven, Bret’s uncle and another guy who liked to wear a lot of black leather. His gray hair was kept in a severe, short cut. “Oh, hey, Steven. Can I help you?”

“Actually, yes. I was looking for a scissors or a knife or something that will cut rope.”

Pepper would kill Howard for lending out his good kitchen knives. “Uh, actually, I have a pocket knife back in my cabin. You want me to go get it for you?”

“That’ll work. Bring it by the Dark Room by nine tonight, won’t you? We’re having a rope-tying demonstration.”

“Oh, yeah? Like, as a game?”

“No, more for bondage.”

Howard laughed nervously. “Heh. Of course. Yeah, okay, I’ll bring it by, no problem.”

…

As Howard headed off in the direction of the cabins, where he and everyone else at the party had bunks for the night, he paused outside the lit windows of the main lodge. Diane, who was friends with everyone and a regular at the diner, was applying makeup to a beautiful young man. The Club Diamond drag queens were getting ready for their performance. Howard looked on with fascination as the soft brush swept over closed eyelids, cheekbones, like a lover’s caresses. The makeup transformed the masculine into the feminine as he watched. He hadn’t realized he was visible until someone chuckled and called from the shadows, “Howard, nobody likes a peeping Tom!”

“I wasn’t doing anything!” he blurted, and dashed off to his cabin, laughter chasing at his heels.

It wasn’t until he reached his bunk that he paused to wonder if it had been a real person or just a voice in his head. They liked to do that, play little tricks on him, make him think someone was talking to him when they weren’t. Usually he could ignore them and they didn’t cause too much trouble. He’d had a lot of practice, after all.

He found his knife and stuck it in his pocket, then checked the time. It was nearly nine! He jogged across the campground to the cabin that had been designated the Dark Room, only to find a sizable crowd gathered outside already. Steven was standing at the front, measuring out lengths of nylon rope. Howard wriggled through the onlookers and handed over the knife.

“Thank you, son,” Steven said, and Howard tried not to look too pleased. He faded back into the crowd and considered leaving, but the demonstration was starting. Sheer curiosity planted him where he stood.

The demo was mainly about how to safely and comfortably tie up a partner’s wrists with rope. Another man approached Howard to ask to be his demo partner, but Howard declined.

“Come on, I’m the odd one out,” he complained.

“Well… okay, but go easy on me?” Howard laughed nervously.

He needn’t have worried, however, as the leather daddies ran out of rope by the time they reached Howard and his would-be partner. The other guy looked put out, but Howard was mostly relieved.

“Who knew, it’s not just for Boy Scouts,” Howard intoned, trying to cheer him up and earning a chuckle.

Then the flogging started. As the red welts rose on Walter’s flesh, Howard paled and ran back towards the main lodge.

_What are you doing? Go back and watch!_

_It’s so dirty! You like it, don’t you?_

_It’s sinful! Run!_

_You wish you were the one being tied up and beaten, don’t you?_

_What would Harriet think of you?_

Howard clutched at his head, muttering, “Shut up, shut up!” He began beating rhythmically on the back and sides of his head in a futile attempt to dislodge the voices. His legs carried him away from the Dark Room, then towards, then away again. He slumped against a tree and peered around it as morbid curiosity got the better of him. Now there were two women, one tied up on the rack outside the Dark Room, the other— oh. Oh! Howard hadn’t realized you could get your entire hand up inside someone like that.

Not wanting anyone to see him, he skirted around the cabins and hid in the shadows until the crowd had dispersed. When the coast was clear, he made his way to the front door.

_What are you doing?_

_Just one look…_

_This is wrong!_

_You just need to see what they’re doing in there…_

Howard ascended the steps and was through the door before he realized what was happening. The cabin was dark, lit with eerie red and blue lights. Pornography played on a television in the corner. Howard tore his eyes away from the writhing, moaning bodies on screen only to find the real deal playing out right in front of him. Howard froze. Steven had Walter’s legs hitched up over his shoulders and was fucking him as Walter dangled from leather cuffs.

Howard began to back away slowly, quietly, so as not to disturb them. He ran into something. Someone. He turned to face Ruben and a very bemused Ike, the young man that Ruben had been seen with earlier.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Howard. You a frequent visitor?” Ruben asked, quirking a grin at him.

“N-no! I was just… dropping off something for Steven! Just running an errand!” Howard stammered.

Ruben took a step into the room, and Howard stepped back. He was getting closer to Steven and Walter again. Not good. “Is that so? Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

Ike, at least, took pity on Howard. “Would you like us to let you through, Howard?”

“Yes, please,” Howard squeaked. Ike moved aside, and Howard was off like a shot out the door. Ruben’s rich laughter echoed behind him.

…

The drag show hadn’t started yet, but Howard could see Pepper already sitting in the audience. He joined Pepper, shaking a little and rubbing at the back of his head.

“Are you all right, Howard?”

“Fine! Fine. Just fine. Didn’t see anything weird. Nope. Just a normal night. Perfect night for a drag show, yeah? Nice, sane fun.”

“Howard, did something happen to you?” Now Pepper looked concerned. “Did someone—”

“No! Nobody did anything. Not to me. Not that I was looking. I was just running an errand. I didn’t see anything.”

Bret sat down on Howard’s other side and grinned. “What ‘didn’t’ you see?”

Great, he was getting tag-teamed now. He groaned. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it. It was… weird. I was running an errand for Steven at the Dark Room. I sort of walked in on… stuff.”

Bret’s face twisted in disgust. “Aww, nasty! Never mind, I don’t want to know what my uncle does in there.”

“Are you sure you didn’t enjoy it?” Pepper asked slyly.

“What? No!” Howard frowned. “I have Harriet! I’m not interested in… that sort of thing!”

“You are so repressed,” snickered Bret.

“He really is,” agreed Pepper.

“I’m not repressed or whatever! Look, I’m just a little freaked out. Pepper, can you give me something useful to do? Anything at all?”

“I am not going to enable your avoidance,” said Pepper loftily. “You should deal with your feelings head-on.”

“Come on, Pepper.”

“No.”

Howard felt the fury rise up in him out of nowhere. “Fine, then! I’ll go find something to do myself!”

He stormed off to the kitchen.

…

Howard beat a rhythm against his skull with his fists. At several points, people drifted in and out of the kitchen for drinks and asked him if he was all right, and he rambled some response that he couldn’t remember. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking or if the voices were anymore.

When he glanced out the kitchen door to see if the show had started yet, he met Andrew’s gaze from across the lodge. Face flaring red, he ducked back into the kitchen and pressed his back to the wall. Stealing another peek, he was horrified to find that Andrew was still staring in his direction. He hid in the kitchen again. Andrew entered a moment later.

“Oh, hey, Andrew! Cool party, right? Cool. Cool cool cool.” Howard rubbed a hand through his hair, making it stand out at wild angles.

“You seem a little agitated,” Andrew observed, moving into Howard’s space. “Something I can help you with?”

The smell of leather, sweat, and something profoundly masculine assaulted Howard’s senses as he inhaled deeply. “Y-yeah,” he breathed. He swallowed. “Just… tell me what to do? Not here, though.”

He led Andrew to the pantry, out of sight of the main kitchen doors. Andrew grabbed him by both wrists and guided Howard’s hands to the doorway of the pantry. “Hold on here. Don’t move your hands.”

The simple order filled Howard with an immediate sense of calm and stillness. He complied. Andrew was touching him, smoothing hands down his arms, his spine, his ass. “I’m going to hit you now, and I want you to count with me.”

Howard trembled. “Okay.”

“Can you move your hands?”

Howard moved his hands slightly, but Andrew pinned them in place and answered his own question, breath hot on Howard’s ear. “No, you can’t. You can’t move your hands because I put them there. They’re mine now.”

There was a faint pressure against his ass, then a flicker of almost-pain. Howard gasped. “That’s how it’ll feel, but harder. You know the stoplight colors?”

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go,” Howard recited. He was paying attention at the rope demo.

“Very good. Count with me.”

_Crack!_

“One!”

_Crack!_

“T-two!”

_Crack!_

“Three! Ahh, oh god…”

“What color?”

“Green. Very green.”

_Crack!_

“Ah, five!”

“That was four.”

“Shit. Sorry. Four.”

“It’s all right. We’re going to count backwards now.”

_Crack!_

“F-five?”

“Three now.”

“Three.”

_Crack!_

“Two!”

_Crack!_

“One!”

Howard’s voice cracked on the last word into a near sob, and Andrew gripped him by the hair.

“On your knees.”

Howard dropped to his knees on the pantry floor, the pain giving way to blissful inner silence. The other man freed his cock from his leather pants and shoved it into Howard’s face.

“Suck it.”

Howard opened his mouth gratefully, sucking the hard flesh in as far as it would go without choking. Andrew grunted appreciatively and maintained his grip in Howard’s short, curly hair, fucking Howard’s face with little care for Howard’s comfort. Howard didn’t mind. He sucked and licked and moaned around the cock in his mouth as though he were the one being pleasured. When he pulled off after one long suck, Andrew grunted again and came all over his face in hot streaks.

Howard caught his breath with heavy pants and stared up at Andrew, glassy-eyed and cock aching for release. “Please, fuck me.”

Andrew tucked himself back into his pants, gave Howard an inscrutable look, and left Howard kneeling in the pantry.

Howard stayed put for a moment, confused, but then he realized Andrew wasn’t coming back. With a stifled whimper, he got to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom to clean up. He reeked of sex and desperation. What had he done? Oh, god, what had he _done?_

…

Once he was more or less presentable, Howard picked his way carefully out to where the drag show was finally starting. He focused on the familiar auburn mop belonging to Pepper and sat down gingerly. Pepper eyed him disapprovingly as he winced and hissed with pain.

“I see Andrew didn’t go easy on you,” Pepper said.

Howard’s blood turned to ice. “Wh-what?”

“I saw you, Howard. I wasn’t the only one, either.”

“Shit. Shit shit shit.” Howard buried his face in his hands. “You can’t tell Harriet. Please.”

“One of us should.” Pepper’s tone strongly implied that it should be Howard.

“She’ll hate me. Oh god, what am I even doing?” Howard’s voice rose in a high-pitched whine. He was losing his grip.

“Also, Andrew is seeing Bret, just so you’re aware.”

That was even worse. “So I’m not just cheating on Harriet, I made Andrew cheat on his boyfriend? Fuck. That’s just… fuck. Wonderful.”

As much as Howard enjoyed the drag show in previous years, he just couldn’t focus on it at the moment. He needed to find Bret. Bret deserved to know.

_Harriet deserves to know._

_It’s not cheating if it’s with men! They don’t mean anything!_

_You’re a cheating bastard and you don’t deserve her._

_In for a penny, in for a pound. Just go get your brains fucked out until it stops hurting._

_You were never really boyfriend material, anyway._

_How could you ever truly love her when all you ever wanted was a dick in your—_

“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up…” Howard muttered and slapped at his head as he ducked back into the kitchen, a place that used to be his safe haven from the noise and the bustle of the party, but now he couldn’t even look at the pantry without choking.

A familiar lanky blond boy made his way through the kitchen, and Howard swallowed. “Bret? Hey, dude, can I talk to you for a sec?”

…

They stood outside the back door of the kitchen, away from the cacophony of the drag show and its appreciative audience.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Bret scoffed when Howard spilled the beans. “We fool around, yeah, but it’s not like, serious.”

“Oh. Oh, okay. That’s… good? Yeah.” Howard scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “I thought I’d fucked this up even more than I already did.”

“What happened?” Bret asked, concerned.

A shaky exhale, and then Howard was telling Bret everything, from the way Andrew had used him to the way he just walked away without a word. “I mean, did I do something wrong, do you think? Fuck, the counting. I messed up the counting. He must have been disgusted.”

Howard wasn’t sure when he’d started crying but Bret had a hand on his shoulder and the world was blurry through his tears. “No, no, that’s probably not it,” Bret tried to reassure him, obviously uncomfortable with this display of emotion. “I mean, it’s not my thing, but those guys in the Cruisers Club… they’re into that whole punishment and humiliation stuff. It’s part of their game.”

“Really?” Howard hadn’t considered that. “So… that was just… normal?”

“Yeah. Probably.” Bret shrugged. He didn’t look too convinced himself, but it was a good enough explanation for Howard, who latched onto it like a lifeboat.

“Oh man. I’ve been freaking out for no reason.” Howard laughed brokenly. “Wow. Thanks, dude, that’s a relief.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Bret gave him another pat on the shoulder. “You gonna be all right?”

“I think so. But, uh, Bret? Be careful. With Andrew. I mean,” Howard fumbled for the words. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I can take care of myself, Howard,” said Bret, but his smile was warm.

“I know, I know, just… you’re so nice, and so… cute…”

Howard wasn’t sure who started kissing whom, but he could taste the malty tang of beer on Bret’s tongue. They half-tripped over each other trying to find stable ground and wound up leaning against a wall. Howard dipped his head down to lick at Bret’s throat and was rewarded with a breathy moan. They made out like teenagers— which, technically, Bret still was, and Howard still young enough to remember. Howard’s hand found its way down the front of Bret’s jeans. Howard’s world narrowed to hot breaths, warm flesh against his palm, the particular scent of Bret’s fabric softener and sweat and beer all combining into its own new, exciting aroma. It was hot and desperate and brief, but there was also a gentleness to it that had been absent with Andrew.

“That was… nice,” Howard said when it was over. He still hadn’t come himself, but it bothered him less this time. The static that filled his brain was a welcome respite from the voices.

Yep. He definitely needed to talk to Harriet.

…

Three more beers in, Howard had the brilliant idea of talking to Andrew again.

He found Andrew in the crowd after the drag show, chatting with similarly leather-clad men who gave Howard appraising glances. Howard was beyond nerves and embarrassment. “Can we talk?”

Andrew’s eyes darted around. “Uh. Now?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve got my people here. Can’t you just say what you’re going to say in front of them?”

“I just want to talk to you. Alone. Just for a minute.” Howard’s courage flagged as all of those eyes stayed trained on him. “Please?”

Reluctantly, Andrew left the group and walked outside with Howard. It wasn’t exactly private, but at least it wasn’t in the middle of a crowd. “What?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I understand. I figured it out. Well, Bret explained it, and—” Howard took a deep breath and composed his thoughts, which was hard to do while his brain was swimming in alcohol. “I get it. The whole walking away without a word thing. It’s part of the game for you, right? Punishment and humiliation. I was kinda freaked out before, but now I know it’s all good.”

Andrew’s face twisted as though he were either trying not to laugh, or he’d smelled something bad. He pinched the bridge of his nose which made Howard think maybe it was the latter. “No, Howard, you… no. What I did was not okay. I should have stayed and talked to you, made sure you were all right. But I didn’t. That’s just how it is sometimes with men, you know? Sorry. It’s nothing personal.”

Andrew’s voice was coming from very far away, it seemed. Howard struggled to make his mouth work, and when he did, all he could say was, “Oh.”

Andrew left. Again. Howard didn’t really notice.

He needed another drink.

…

The bonfire was lit, and so were most of the folks at the party. Howard hung back in the shadows, sipping at a drink that was decidedly not beer but he couldn’t recall what its name was. It burned when it went down and left him feeling pleasantly numb. The voices were loud again, but he couldn’t make out the words, so at least that was a nice change. Maybe the voices were drunk, too. The thought made him laugh.

A man wearing the sparkliest purple shirt Howard had ever seen sauntered over with a sly grin. “Hey, you catch my act?”

Howard dredged his memory for a name and came up with one that seemed right. “Uh, yeah, Leon. It was great. You still got it.”

Leon all but preened. “Damn right, I do.”

He leaned in close, and Howard could smell his cologne. Leon traced a path with his hand down Howard’s neck, chest, belly, and paused at the waistband of Howard’s shorts. Howard, who had been half-hard ever since his encounter with Bret, inhaled sharply as his body was called to attention.

“I could give you a private performance.”

The line could have come off as cheesy, but Howard was sold. “Yeah,” he breathed, taking Leon by the hand. “Not here, though.”

They moved far enough away that the firelight couldn’t touch them, only the shadow of the forest. Once Howard was sure that nobody was watching (he’d learned his lesson), he drew Leon in for a hot, messy kiss. The mustache didn’t even give him pause.

“Please, fuck me,” begged Howard.

Even in the dark, Howard could see the way Leon’s eyes widened. He nodded, and his hands were astoundingly gentle as he turned Howard around to face the broad trunk of an oak tree. Howard braced against the tree automatically, shuddering a little as echoes of his incident with Andrew crawled along his skin. But Leon was attentive in all the ways Andrew wasn’t, giving in all the ways that Bret hadn’t been, and as he pressed his hips up behind Howard’s his hands were working over Howard’s body with strokes and squeezes. Howard bit his lower lip to stifle a moan as the cool night air prickled against his bare skin.

“Yeah, you like this, don’t you?” purred Leon. “You want me.”

“Yes,” whimpered Howard. “I want you. Please.”

There was a wet sound, and Howard jerked a little at the touch of something slippery against sensitive skin, but Leon shushed and gentled him like an easily startled animal. Howard calmed at the warm, sure caresses against his back and hips. There was pressure, an intrusion, but then… oh. Oh it was so good. Leon’s fingers were inside him, taking him apart one stroke at a time, and Howard’s knees were jelly. He held onto the tree for dear life as Leon did things that Howard would never admit he’d experienced before, and anyway it had been years. Before Harriet.

_Stop thinking about her!_

_But you love her._

_But she’ll hate you._

_Fuck, this is good._

“Please,” Howard whispered, voice breaking. “I want you. Just take me. Fuck me.”

Leon groaned and leaned in until he was pressed full length along Howard, sternum to spine, and kissed the back of Howard’s neck tenderly. He pulled his fingers away and Howard felt a sense of loss, but it was short lived as something thicker and hotter pressed into him to replace them. All the air left him at once. He could see sparks of light when he closed his eyes.

Someone was talking, and Howard realized it was him. Chanting, more like. “Please, please, please…”

Leon picked up the pace as Howard’s ‘pleases’ increased in volume. Then, he took a half step back and pulled Howard’s hips closer, and the change in angle sparked a whole new world of sensations in Howard that made him scrabble at the tree, clawing chunks of bark loose as he gasped and panted. His orgasm took him hard and unexpectedly, cock untouched, and he uttered a sort of choked wail. Leon grunted as well and gave a few more hard thrusts before pulling out and shuddering. Howard leaned against the oak as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. His face was wet with tears he hadn’t realized he’d been shedding.

Shame never left Howard alone long enough to let him enjoy this sort of thing afterward. He forced his leaden legs to support him as he dragged his shorts back up and straightened out his shirt. He knew he was going to be sore in the morning. Turning to face Leon, he was struck with a surge of gratitude and affection. He leaned in for one more, almost chaste kiss.

“Thank you.”

Leon blinked at Howard as though he’d started speaking a foreign language. Then, his expression softened and he pulled Howard in for a tight hug.

“Enjoy life,” Leon said. “It goes by faster than you’ll know.”

…

The next morning, Howard had shaved and showered, removing every last particle of sex-stink from his body.

_It’s not enough._

_She’ll know._

_You need to tell her before someone else does._

“I know, I know,” Howard muttered, slapping at the back of his head. “I will.”

Breakfast was fine. Howard flipped pancakes with practiced ease and loaded up the warming pans as quickly as they were emptied. Pepper remarked on his freshly-shaved look and Priest laughingly rubbed her knuckles across his bare cheek. It was like any other morning at the diner, except of course they weren’t at the diner.

Leon’s warm glance made Howard blush. He flirted shamelessly with Diane, who called him “sugar” and was the entire reason Pepper kept grits on the menu. He shared a shy smile and a high-five with Bret. When Andrew came through the line, they avoided eye contact.

“Good pancakes,” Andrew said when he returned his plate. Howard gave him a cool stare.

“Just remember,” Howard said, “that despite whatever happened between us, I still made you breakfast.”

He walked away with the stack of dirty plates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a different perspective on the Leon/Howard scene at the end of this act, check out this link:  
> https://discoleon.wordpress.com/2017/08/30/last-dance/
> 
> Now here on AO3!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/12212253


	2. Act 2: Fear of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard's life has changed dramatically since 1982's party. Now he has to figure out where he fits into this complicated puzzle of queerness and relationships. Meanwhile, the specter of death lurks above them all as AIDS finally has a name...

 

Act 2: Fear of Death

  
_1982 rolled into 1983. Simon of Urban Renaissance was dead. Leon was dead. They’d contracted the new plague sweeping through the gay community. It finally had a name: AIDS._

_Harriet had left Howard. He’d told her everything when she’d come back, as she always did, like a stray cat. When she left this final time, she’d taken all of her things with her. That was how Howard knew it was for good. He was inconsolable for months, speaking to almost nobody, avoiding the diner’s patrons he used to chat with like old friends._

_A napkin with an address and the words “Cruisers Club” scrawled on it found its way into Howard’s back pocket. He never knew who put it there._

_He went._

_The experience was spiritual as well as physical. Howard had found a way to keep the voices quiet, the way drugs and counselors never could. The confines of bondage calmed his soul. Orders barked from a face soothed his mind. The bite of a whip healed his broken heart. The sex wasn’t half bad, either._

_Howard embraced his new identity as a gay man. He became himself again, and even Pepper couldn’t keep making disapproving noises when Howard was smiling and chattering away like old times. But Pepper warned him, always, to be careful. And Howard was._

_The loft where Howard lived was now a sort of hospice for young gay men that were dying of AIDS. Howard helped care for them sometimes. Howard slept on Pepper’s couch now, to make room for Pepper’s strays. Pepper wouldn’t let them work, for fear that they were contagious, but he cared for them as best he could._

_When Howard came down with the flu, only a couple months after joining the Cruisers Club, Pepper and Priest banished him from the kitchen and disinfected every surface of the diner. Twice. He tested negative for AIDS and recovered fully from his illness, but it was a sobering experience. He became obsessive about washing his hands and taking other precautions while working, helping with the loft strays, or having sex. He was careful._

_When news of Ruben’s injuries reached Howard, his opinion of Pepper’s brother raised significantly. Ruben had been badly hurt defending Ike from gay bashers. The silver lining was that this seemed to put Pepper’s issues with Ruben to bed, and Pepper went to visit him in the hospital. Ike wasn’t allowed. Family only. Howard offered to keep him distracted with movies and card games while they both waited for Pepper to return with news. Ruben was going to make it, but he might never be the same._

_Maybe none of them would ever be the same._

…

 

With dinner finished and the kitchen cleaned up, Howard slipped away to change into his “party clothes.” Steven had given him a black leather vest with pockets and a little strap behind the shoulders. The innocuous loop was ostensibly for hanging the vest on a hook for storage, but Howard knew better. It was for other men to grab onto, to pull Howard and lead him around. He approved. He wore a simple army green tank top underneath, and completed the look with a pair of cutoff denim shorts. He was worried that they were a little too short; the pocket linings dangled out over his bare thighs, and he was pretty sure he was showing some cheek from behind. Also they were tight enough in the crotch that he worried for the health of his balls.

But when he stepped out into the lodge and saw the appreciative eyes on him, he knew it was worth it. He was definitely getting some play time in the Dark Room that night. Maybe even elsewhere. The party provided so many tantalizing opportunities, after all.

“I’m heading out! I’ll be back in time to help with the Green Drink,” said Howard.

“Have fun! Be safe!” Pepper called. He’d raised an eyebrow at Howard’s attire but refrained from commenting. Priest was already off with her new book club friends. Well, she called it a book club, but Howard knew better.

The Dark Room called to Howard, so he went. There was some reporter doing an interview and a photo shoot for OUT magazine. Despite initial misgivings, Howard agreed to appear in the photos. They weren’t going to have their dicks out, after all. Just a bunch of guys in leather holding bondage gear and toys. Pretty tame by Cruisers Club standards.

“All right, group photo!” said the cheerful reporter. She seemed very interested in the workings of the club and the Dark Room, and kept giving the men there intense looks. Howard had a feeling she’d be back later when she was off the clock. There were plenty of leather dykes who would be happy to take care of her.

Howard and Chain posed for some photos with a little more action, but it was all staged. Fake. Howard was impatient for some real fun. Finally, the reporter left with her photographer, and Howard saw Bret come in through the door.

Perking up, Howard followed Bret over to the side of the cabin where he was talking with Andrew. Of course. Howard plunked himself down on a bunk across from them, uninvited. “Hey, guys! What’s up?”

“Just stopping by to say hi,” Bret said. “I won’t stick around long.”

It was too weird to be around his uncle’s sex club, was what Bret meant. Howard nodded. "Cool." 

“Andrew, was it? Can I talk to you for a second?” It was the reporter again. Andrew looked reluctant, but stood up. 

“I’ll be right back,” he promised Bret with a quick smile. The look he gave Howard was unreadable. 

A surge of jealousy made Howard’s blood run hot. “Hey, Bret, why don’t we go to the Aftercare Room? It’s less, uh, leathery over there.”

“Yeah, thanks. Good idea.” Bret kept his gaze fixed on everything but the restraints and floggers and whips lying about the play space.

The Aftercare Room was quiet, with two beds and piles of blankets. Howard sidled up to Bret for a kiss and murmured, “You know, you don’t have to get into all this, but you could still boss me around if you wanted.”

Bret seemed entertained by the notion. “Oh yeah? Like, I could just tell you what to do, and you’d do it?”

“Anything you wanted,” promised Howard with a grin.

Bret considered this, then smirked and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed casually behind his head. “Okay, then. Gimme a blow job.”

There was a little part of Howard that jerked to attention at that. With as much smolder as he could muster, he said, “Yes, sir,” and dropped to his knees in front of Bret.

Bret’s cock tasted amazing as always. Howard savored the weight of it against his tongue and soft palette, sucking and bobbing his head. He was a little more experienced with this sort of thing now. Gone were his hesitant, furtive days of getting guys off in dark alleys or… pantries.

“Mm, god, yes,” Bret moaned, hips rocking involuntarily. Howard licked a long stripe along the underside of Bret’s cock before swallowing it down again. The hot suction of his mouth made Bret hum and grunt with appreciation.

It was over quickly, and Bret didn’t even have time to warn Howard before he was coming. Howard, unprepared, choked a little on the load in his mouth and pulled off sputtering. “Sorry,” they both said at once, and laughed.

“I need to get better at finishes,” Howard said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Yeah, you do,” chuckled Bret, but he kissed Howard anyway, and as always, it was nice.

Howard caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced to the doorway, hoping that Andrew had seen them, but was disappointed to find that it was just a lesbian couple entering the Dark Room. When he peered out the door to the Aftercare Room, he was even more disappointed to find that Andrew had left.

_You wanted him to see._  

_He should be the one to feel jealous._

_Bret likes you better, anyway._

… 

As the night wore on, the Dark Room was increasingly filled with people who weren’t interested in playing with Howard, or Howard wasn’t interested in them. During a lull, he asked Steven for something to do. 

“Anything,” he all but whined. “Except, you know, not sex.”

The rain outside had come and gone, leaving the entryway to the Dark Room slippery and muddy. “Clean the floors,” Steven ordered him, putting a towel into Howard’s hands. “I want to see them sparkle.”

Howard beamed gratefully. “Yes, sir!”

He got to work, wiping up the rain puddles and muddy tracks with his towel on hands and knees. When he was finished, Steven inspected his work and told him he’d done well. 

“Is there anything else I can do, sir?” Howard was already antsy again. Idle hands and all that. 

Steven considered, then led Howard over to the boot blacking chair. “Sit down. Have I taught you how to polish boots yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, with all this rain, you know water and leather don’t mix. I’d like you to take some of that polish and rub it into my boots. Just dip your fingers in and rub it all over. Make sure it’s rubbed in good.” Steven rested one booted foot on the chair between Howard’s legs. Despite the suggestive position, Howard felt no arousal at all. Only that sense of peace he got when someone with a face was telling him what to do. It was comfortable. Safe. Howard did as he was told, dipping his fingers into the oily substance and rubbing it in small, neat circles over every surface of the boot.

When instructed, he used a bit of cloth to buff and shine the leather until it almost glowed under the blue and red lights. “Very good, Howard. Walter? Inspect Howard’s work.”

Walter, who had been quietly observing, dropped to all fours and ran practiced hands over Steven’s boot. “You missed a spot on the heel,” he said.

The boot returned, and Howard fixed his mistake. Then he did the other boot, and this time it was perfect. Steven gave him an approving nod and ruffled his hair. “Good boy.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“By the way,” Steven said, glancing over Howard’s shoulder, “I think Bret might have seen us. He left in a hurry.”

Howard went cold all over. “What?! Shit, shit shit shit, he probably thinks… Permission to go after him, sir?”

Steven nodded, and Howard was out the door.

…

When Howard finally found Bret in the main lodge, he was out of breath and soaked through from rain. “Bret! I promise, it wasn’t what it looked like!”  

“That’s usually what people say when it’s exactly what it looked like,” someone scoffed. Others chuckled in agreement.

“I’m so sorry you saw that,” Howard continued. “I know it’s weird, with Steven being your uncle and all, but we have a line we don’t cross, you know? A big line. More like a trench. Full of barbed wire and land mines.”

Bret sighed. “I’m not upset, Howard. I know what you guys do in there. I just didn’t want to stick around to see it.”

“Oh. Okay. So… we’re good?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Relief made Howard slump a little. “Oh, good. Sorry again if that weirded you out.”

Bret made a face. “It kind of did. But hey, whatever you gotta do.”

…

“What’s this?” Howard asked as Pepper dropped a white pill into his open palm.

“Something I’m trying tonight. You can try it, too, if you like. I’m hoping it will expand my mind to new planes of existence.”

“Yeah, all right.” Howard took the pill and dry-swallowed it. He waited, then shrugged. “I don’t feel any different. Maybe it was just a Tic-Tac?”

…

Howard tried to pay attention to the drag show, but the voices were louder than usual. He couldn’t even make out individual words; it was just a cacophony drowning out the music and the Queen of Manhattan’s cutting humor. Then, he saw them.

The books.

They looked like books, anyway, but they had legs and faces. They were taunting Howard. They knew he couldn’t read or write too well, but inside their pages they held all the secrets. If Howard could only catch one… 

“Come back here!” he yelled, chasing one down the aisle between the seats. “Stop running! You little fucker!”

It vanished into the kitchen and he followed it, ignoring the startled looks from other party-goers. It wasn’t until he felt a firm tug on the back of his vest that he stopped, an immediate calm making his limbs heavy.

“Howard,” Steven said, and Howard realized slowly that Steven had been calling his name for some time now. “Howard, you need to settle down.”

“The books,” Howard mumbled sadly. “They won’t let me read them. They just tease me.” 

Steven sighed and dragged him back to the show by his vest loop. Howard followed meekly and stayed put when he was sat back down. Anytime Howard seemed to drift, Steven would give him a firm tug on the loop to ground him in reality. It worked surprisingly well.

…

Howard wasn’t the only one having bad luck with drugs. Chain had apparently eaten his entire stash of weed and was having a bad trip.

“Can you die from that?” Howard asked Chain’s sister, Evelyn.

“I don’t think so. He’s getting better now, but someone should keep an eye on him.”

“I can do that,” said Howard. He’d already helped prep the Green Drink and the hippies were handing it around.

He found Chain near the fire. He was easily the prettiest member of the Cruisers Club, and Howard had always been fond of him. “Hey, Chain. How are you?”

Chain’s eyes were glassy, distant. “I’m all right,” he said automatically. 

“I’m going to stick with you for awhile, okay? I just had a bad trip myself, and you shouldn’t be alone for this.”

“Okay,” said Chain with a shrug. He took Howard’s hand in his, like they were children linking up as buddies for a school field trip. Then, both he and Howard accepted a glass of Green Drink.

That’s where the trouble started.

At first it wasn’t so bad. Chain went around to nearly everyone around the fire, hugging them and telling them something meaningful and heartfelt. Howard rolled with it, not wanting to interrupt Chain’s flow. He obviously needed to tell people what they meant to him, before they were gone. Like Simon and Leon. Howard could understand that.

“I want to find Sinclair,” said Chain. He started to pull away from Howard, but Howard held fast to his hand. “Come on, I need to find him!”

“I’ll help you look for him,” promised Howard, “but you shouldn’t go alone.”

“Fine. Okay.” Chain dragged Howard behind him as he strode off across the grounds. 

They checked the main lodge. They checked some of the cabins. They checked the Dark Room. Finally, Chain spotted the politician and made a beeline for him, Howard in tow.

“Life’s too short,” was all Chain said, before kissing Sinclair with a feverish passion.

Howard let go of Chain’s hand then and stepped back awkwardly to give them some semblance of privacy. But not everyone agreed with the situation. 

“No, no, no!” Nate, the Queen of Manhattan, shrieked. She stormed over, still in full drag, and attempted to haul Sinclair away from Chain.

Howard had the sense that he’d done something wrong by letting Chain find Sinclair, but he wasn’t sure why. He looked to Chain for guidance, but Chain was already in a heated argument with Nate.

When Chain grabbed Sinclair and tried to leave, Nate came after them. Howard attempted to block Nate bodily, but Nate just swept around him as though he were a stone in a river. 

“Get Steven!” the Queen snapped.

Howard hesitated. “Chain? What should I do?” 

Chain wasn’t listening.

“Get. Steven.”

Howard turned to Nate furiously. “Fine! I’m getting Steven. But not because you told me!”

It was childish, but he didn’t care. Nate wasn’t one of his. Nate didn’t get to tell him what to do. But if anyone knew what to do about this fiasco, it was Steven.

As it turned out, Steven had been told not to let Sinclair into the Dark Room. Nobody had told him to keep Sinclair away from Chain, or vice versa. Sinclair, meanwhile, was freaking out badly and had apparently also taken too many drugs. Ruben and Ike whisked him away. 

“I need to find Sinclair. I just want to talk to him,” Chain kept saying. Howard tried to deter him, but Chain could not be swayed. So, Howard followed Chain all over creation like a lost puppy, again, in hopes that he could prevent Chain from doing anything too stupid.

They ended up in the Pillow Room, where some of the Saratoga Group were practicing giving each other massages. Bret was there, too. As Chain railed at Ike and Ruben to let him see Sinclair, Howard flopped face-down into a pile of pillows beside Bret.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said.

Bret gave him a sympathetic pat.

As Chain began to leave, Howard scrambled to put his boots back on. Chain shook his head.

“Howard, stay,” he said, and the command in his tone was not to be disobeyed.

So Howard stayed.

He stayed until he nodded off in the corner, muttering petulantly at anyone who bothered him that he couldn’t leave, Chain said so.

Finally, Mistress Sam realized what was happening.

“Howard, go to bed,” she told him in a tone that put Chain’s to shame. Howard did as he was told, but he wasn’t happy about it.

He never did get laid that night.

…

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Act 3: Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite all precautions, Howard has AIDS. He doesn't know how to say goodbye.
> 
> (Trigger Warning: Suicidal thoughts and mention of actual suicide by the end.)

Act 3: Friendship

  
_The tumultuous winds of time buffeted them all, and three more were lost. Howard didn’t know any of them very well. He went to their funerals anyway. It felt like he’d just attended one never-ending funeral that year._

_Bret finally called Howard out on his petty, jealous, manipulative behavior. “Do you even like me?” he demanded. “Or am I just a tool for you to get back at Andrew?” Howard tried to explain that yes, of course he liked Bret, and that he was sorry for being such a jerk to Andrew, but the damage was done. “I don’t need you following me around like a lost puppy all the time, anyway. We’re done.”_

_Howard hadn’t cried so hard since Harriet left him. He did love Bret, but he knew he didn’t deserve him. Instead of descending into a blue funk as he had over Harriet’s departure, he took out his frustration on Andrew at the Cruisers Club. He demanded a scene, and when Andrew refused, Howard unleashed all the bitter words that had been brewing in his heart. “You just won’t do it because you know you’re a shitty dom. You’re only with Bret because he’s safe and vanilla, but you’ll fuck things up with him, too.”_

_Andrew hit him. Hard. But that was okay, because Howard hit back. He wanted it. They scuffled and shoved and growled like animals, and then like animals they fucked until there was nothing left but a sweaty pair of leather men lying spent and stupid on the floor. They finally had a real conversation, like adults, and put to rest old rivalries and sore feelings. After that, things were better. For awhile._

_The Simon Center finally received enough funding to open its doors. Howard was one of their first patients, getting tested every month like clockwork— more often if he met someone new at the club. He learned that you needed to use condoms even for blow jobs and resolved to be even more careful than before. And he was careful. But it wasn’t enough._

_The boys in Pepper’s loft were still dying. Some of them, the ones that weren’t too sick, went to work for Pepper at the Diner. They wore gloves and adhered to Pepper’s strict safety and sanitation rules, but now Pepper knew that you couldn’t get AIDS just from someone preparing your food or washing your dishes. They had so many new employees that Pepper opened the diner around the clock, seven days per week. Howard got a raise and took on as many shifts as he could physically stand._

_One day, while helping clean the loft, Howard felt a sharp stab of pain in his hand. A syringe, half-hidden under a pile of tissues, had lodged itself deep in the webbing between his index and middle fingers. He pulled it out with trembling hands and discarded it with the rest of the rubbish. He didn’t tell Pepper, but he got tested the next day. Negative. He exhaled relief._

_A month after that, Howard started to feel tired. He cut back on his shifts, drank more coffee, but it didn’t help. He got sick. He took a week off work to nurse what seemed like just another cold. When he was tested at the Simon Center again, it came back positive. He told Pepper that time. Pepper held him tightly and they cried together. Howard asked Priest if she would pray for him, if God would still accept it._

_He continued to work at the diner when he was well enough, but he stopped handling the knives and always wore gloves. He stopped going to the Cruisers Club. With Steven sick, too, it was starting to look like there wouldn’t be a Cruisers Club for much longer, anyway._

…

Howard mouthed words silently to himself as he formed black bean burger patties with gloved hands. He glanced at a small open notebook on the counter occasionally, but he and the written word had never been especially friendly. Pepper gave his shoulder a squeeze in passing and a gentle smile. “You all right, Howard?”

“Yeah, just a little nervous.” He chuckled under his breath. “This is scarier than going to the clinic.”

The pained expression on Pepper’s face told Howard he’d said the wrong thing. “Sorry,” he mumbled quickly. “I keep—”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Pepper told him firmly. “That should be enough burgers, you can start putting them on the grill.”

Howard did as he was told. Priest chopped away at the vegetables for salad and burger toppings in silence. When he caught her eye, they traded a brief smile. Howard looked back at the grill where the first batch of burgers were sizzling away. He mourned, more than anything, the ease he’d had with Pepper and Priest before, when they were all going to live forever.

…

Pepper’s “Pepper’d Black Bean Burgers” were a perennial hit at the diner, and they received just as warm a welcome at Mr. T’s party. Even more so than “Howard’s Handsome Hot Dish” from the previous year (authentic Minnesota flavor, just like Howard, doncha know). Howard picked at a cooked patty without a bun, but he was too anxious to be hungry.

Priest bumped him with her shoulder. “Hey. You should eat more.”

“Probably,” Howard agreed. He gave her a lopsided grin. “These are so good, they almost make me not miss beef.”

Pepper made a face at him from across the kitchen. Howard laughed, then slung an arm around Priest for a quick hug. “You’re a good big sister, you know that?”

Priest’s expression was hard for Howard to decipher. “I always thought of us as equals.”

Howard shrugged. “Maybe I just like having you as a big sister. You and Pepper take good care of me, like a real family should.”

The hug was less brief that time, and Pepper came over to join them. They didn’t need words.

…

Dinner was a blur of greeting old friends, serving up food, and cleaning. Howard was tired too quickly and had to beg off for a rest. As he sat, Andrew poked his head into the kitchen.

“Fantastic burgers, Pepper. Priest, good to see you. Hey, Howard. How’re you holding up?”

Howard responded with a genuine, if haggard smile. Andrew had been working with the Simon Center lately, so he knew about Howard. He was one of only a few. “As well as can be expected, I guess. Hey, I know I haven’t been around much lately… do you think we could meet up at the Dark Room later, for old time’s sake?”

Andrew’s eyes might have been a little shinier than usual, but his voice was steady as he nodded and said, “Of course. We’re going to do a safe sex demonstration out front at eight, but maybe later tonight?”

“That’d be great. Thanks, Andrew.”

Howard continued to sit in a corner of the kitchen, sipping water, when Ruben came in to talk to Pepper. Howard wasn’t paying very close attention to their conversation, but when Ruben pulled up a chair across from Howard, he blinked up at Ruben owlishly.

“How are you, Howard?” Ruben asked.

“Oh, you know. Just tired. I’m good, though.” Howard forced another smile. It faltered, and he said, “Hey, do you remember… oh, I guess it was five years ago, now. Before you had Ike. You took me out back behind the kitchen and… well, you made me feel pretty amazing.”

Ruben ducked his head into his hands briefly and shook with laughter. “That was you? Oh my god… I barely remember that night. I’m so sorry.”

“No, you shouldn’t be. Because it was good. And I hope you make Ike feel that way, too, because he’s a great guy. I’m glad you have each other. And I’m glad you and Pepper are talking again, too.”

Ruben’s smile was a little sad. “Yeah. Me, too, Howard.”

…

Howard joined the crowd out in front of the main lodge at eight. This wasn’t his first time observing a demonstration from the Cruisers Club, but the excitement and edgy giggles were contagious. Andrew and Mistress Morgan were showing how to properly put on a condom, and then how to make it more fun and sexy.

“Put it on with your teeth!” Howard called out as a joke when they asked for audience suggestions. As intended, it garnered a ripple of laughter from the audience.

Andrew blinked in surprise, and Mistress Morgan continued smoothly, “Yes, good one, Howard. Anyone else?”

“Demonstration!” someone shouted, and the laughter grew louder. Howard snickered, caught up in the moment and stepped forward.

“I volunteer,” he said, stepping up to Andrew.

Andrew, who was never flustered as long as Howard had known him, said, “Uh, well, we’ll see if we have time for that.”

They did, as it turned out, and the crowd hooted and hollered as Howard dropped to his knees in front of Andrew, tore the condom open with his teeth, and rolled it carefully into place on the dildo strapped to Andrew’s pelvis. With his mouth. Cheers erupted. Howard took his bow and then faded back to watch the rest of the demonstration.

There was a relay race, with four teams of two racing to see who could get the condom on the dildo first. Howard didn’t see who won, but the crowd was really ramped up by that point. People had gotten over the embarrassed giggles and were just having a good time with the subject now. Mistress Morgan and Mistress Sam then demonstrated how to use latex gloves and kitchen plastic wrap (which Howard recognized with amusement as coming directly from Pepper’s kitchen) to have safe sex as a lesbian. The gloves were a good idea for men, too, Howard thought and he pilfered one from the box.

When it came to a more practical demonstration of the clear plastic wrap, however, Howard had to avert his eyes and walk away quickly. Priest was the volunteer/victim, and that was more of his ‘sister’ than he was comfortable seeing. It was bad enough when they passed each other in the Dark Room. Too weird.

…

Steven and Walter had wanted to make another announcement after the demonstration, but nobody could find Steven. Howard went looking for him. He eventually found the sturdy patriarch hiding backstage in the main lodge, Diane dabbing makeup on the shadows under his eyes.

“Everyone’s waiting for you,” Howard told him.

“I’m not ready,” Steven said, and Howard was alarmed at the tremor in his voice. Steven was a bundle of nerves, and even with the carefully applied makeup Howard could tell he was very sick. “I need a shave. Howard, would you go fetch my shaving cream?”

It wasn’t an order, but a request. Howard nodded sharply anyway. “Yes, sir.”

When he returned with the shaving cream and a fresh razor, Steven looked a little better. Diane sure knew how to work her magic. She helped Steven clean up the edges of his beard and sideburns quickly.

Steven couldn’t hold off any longer. He clapped Howard on the shoulder with a hand that used to hold an intimidating amount of strength. Now, it shook. “It’s time. Call the others. I’m ready.”

…

The bell tower was cast in gold and shadows as the last of the sunlight faded from the sky. Howard had grabbed a flashlight. Everyone from the Cruiser’s Club, even Chain who wasn’t wearing his leathers anymore, was there. Others had gathered as well, curious to see what Steven wanted to show everyone.

It was a proposal of sorts. Steven had Walter strip down and remove Steven’s belt. Walter braced himself on the bell tower as Steven flogged him and put a stripe on his skin, once for every year they’d been together. They criss-crossed Walter’s back.

When the twilight faded, Howard clicked on the flashlight and held it aloft, a human spotlight for the bizarrely touching scene. He was tired and shaky and needed to keep switching hands to rest his arms, but he kept the light on Steven and Walter. This was their moment. Everyone should be able to see them.

Walter accepted the metal cuff bracelet from Steven. They kissed and embraced to tearful applause. The other Cruisers came forward and joined them in a group hug, and there were no dry eyes.

…

Howard wobbled off to the Dark Room after the proposal, fully intending to find Andrew and see about that scene. However, when he arrived, a rush of dizziness overtook him. He made it to the Aftercare Room and collapsed on one of the beds.

_You’re dying. Like Steven._

_No, you’re just tired. Pepper works you so hard now._

_That’s just the lie you tell everyone else, stupid._

_You need to get back in time for the drag show. You’re going on right after._

_Just rest for a minute…_

Howard closed his eyes. When he opened them again and checked his watch, it was five minutes until the drag show. He had to hurry.

…

The drag show was an emotional roller coaster. Howard laughed, hooted, heckled, and cried with the rest of the audience. Reginald looked much better this year, after his anorexic collapse the year before, and Howard was pleased to see he had more meat on his bones. As he danced to “Venus”, Howard grinned and clapped along. The big reveal as Reginald tore away his caftan, however, left Howard dry in the mouth. Here was this gorgeous man, flowing golden locks, in full makeup, in a leather gladiator skirt and a jock strap. A perfect balance of masculine and feminine beauty. Reginald was Howard’s every wet dream rolled into one. Howard didn’t realize he was moving until he’d fallen on his knees before Reginald on the stage.

“Marry me,” he croaked, throat parched. Reginald just laughed and ruffled Howard’s hair as Howard hugged Reginald around the waist. The audience cracked up as well, and Howard’s embarrassment forced him back to his seat.

…

After the drag show, Nate gave up the stage to Bruce for an open mic night. Marcy (with a “D”) had already done something similar to what Howard had planned, but he couldn’t let that shake him. He had to tell folks about the Simon Center. That was the important thing.

When he went up, the lights were blinding and hot. He squinted out at the audience, a blur of faces.

“I’ve done a lot of scary shit in my life but this is new for me. I’m so nervous,” he began with a shaky chuckle. A few shouts of encouragement urged him to continue. “Hi, everyone. I’m Howard, a.k.a. The Grillmaster. I work at Pepper’s Diner.”

Howard took a deep breath. “And… I have AIDS.”

The audience was silent. Howard kept going, needed the momentum or he’d choke. “I tried to be careful. So careful. I may be illiterate and crazy, but I’m not stupid. I tried. But I got it, and here I am. I’m still me, still Howard. Still human.”

He took a second to catch his breath, turned the page of his notebook even though the scribbles on the page meant next to nothing to him. They were a talisman. “If you’re like me, a fellow human with AIDS, don’t suffer alone. The Simon Center has been helping me. They can help you, too. Even if you don’t have AIDS, they can help you get condoms, tests, teach you what’s safe and what isn’t.

“We’ve lost too many friends already. We’re going to lose more. You’re going to lose me.”

Howard swallowed.

“But we can still save people. We just have to take care of each other and ourselves.”

Another pause, another breath. He could do this.

“Um, so I’m not really a performer. I’m not pretty enough for drag…”

There were a couple of protests at that, and Howard laughed, holding up one of his rhinestone flip-flops. “The sparkliest thing about me are my shoes, which I think I got from one of the drag queens…”

“Those are mine!” Diane’s scandalized voice prompted a ripple of laughter from the audience, and Howard looked stricken.

“Sorry, ma’am! I’ll clean them and give them back later! Er, anyway… I have a song I want to sing for you tonight. Urban Renaissance helped me put this together.”

There was a smattering of applause for the band, and Rain waved and took a short bow.

“This will be my first and last public performance, so please don’t laugh too hard when I fuck up? Okay, here goes.”

There were no instruments, no recorded track. Howard found the starting note in his head and just went for it, his voice creaky and untrained. He was on key, at least.

_“Where have you gone_  
_My love, my friend_  
_Somewhere without the rain_  
_I feel afraid now, I feel alone_  
_Will we meet again_

_Can you recall what we once knew_  
_Somewhere without the pain_  
_I feel afraid now, but not alone_  
_We will meet again_

_I can't hear your voice_  
_But you know I feel your soul_

_Where have you gone_  
_My love, my friend_  
_Somewhere without any pain_  
_I'm not afraid now, I'm not alone_  
_We will meet again_  
_We will meet again”_

  
When Howard finished, his voice broke, and tears streaked his face. He bowed automatically to the sound of applause and stumbled off the stage into Steven’s arms. Walter was there, too. They held him for a moment, wordless, loving, and Howard let them. Then he broke away and made his way to the darkened kitchen, needing some time to collect himself.

Ruben found him there, and again, there were no words as he drew Howard into a tight hug. He hadn’t known, Howard realized. Pepper probably hadn’t told him because Ruben was dealing with his own health troubles. Howard hugged him back, and then Ruben gave him a last pat on the shoulder and left the kitchen.

Howard chugged a glass of water. Then another. Then, as he considered a third, strong hands settled onto his shoulders. He turned to look up at Andrew.

“Are you ready?” Howard couldn’t see his face in the dark, but Andrew’s voice was soft. Gentle. So different from the first time Howard had met him, when he was all hardness wrapped in leather.

Howard nodded, and Andrew led him by the hand out of the kitchen into the night.

…

The Dark Room was empty, so they had their pick of equipment and space. “What do you want?” Andrew asked Howard. “It’s your scene.”

Howard pulled a rubber glove from his pocket. “I want you to fuck me. Safely. Like, really really carefully.”

Andrew took the glove and nodded, understanding. He led Howard over to one of the beds. “Do you think you deserve to be fucked?”

“Yes, sir.” Howard gave him a crooked grin. “I’ve been a very good boy.”

“Prove it. Beg for it.”

Howard liked this game. He dropped to his knees, as easily as he had during the demonstration, and steadied himself with his hands on Andrew’s hips. “Please, sir,” he purred, rubbing his face like a cat against the black leather over Andrew’s thigh. “Please, fuck me.”

He could feel Andrew shiver a little. “Stand up.”

Howard stood, and Andrew slid leather cuffs around his wrists, tugging the buckles tight. “Lie down.”

Howard lay down, and Andrew attached the metal loops on the cuffs to hooks on the bed frame. Howard tugged on them once to test them, then let his weight sag against the cuffs, satisfied that they would hold him securely.

“What a good boy you’ve been. So patient. I think I’ll reward you,” murmured Andrew, stroking one hand down Howard’s chest and belly. Howard hummed in appreciation and arched his back slightly, craving the touch. Andrew’s fingers deftly opened Howard’s fly and slid the denim shorts down over his legs. He tugged down the elastic waistband on Howard’s underwear and teased at the tip of his burgeoning arousal, making Howard gasp. “Look at you. I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Please, touch me, sir,” whimpered Howard, hips lifting off the bed. Andrew pushed him flat against the bed and stripped of his underwear completely, leaving him naked from the waist down.

Instead of reaching for Howard’s half-hard cock, however, Andrew carefully pulled the rubber glove onto his hand and spread a bit of lube over the fingers. “I wonder if I can make you come with a prostate massage alone,” he spoke, as if to himself. “What do you think, Howard?”

“I think you won’t know unless you try, sir,” Howard replied cheekily. This earned him a light slap across the ass, which made Howard yelp, and then a slippery caress, which made him sigh.

“Deep breaths, in and out,” Andrew instructed as he worked a finger inside Howard slowly, carefully. Howard did his best. He hadn’t been touched in so long, and he was fully hard now, leaking against his belly. A second finger wriggled in beside the first, stretching Howard. When Andrew crooked his fingers and pressed just so, Howard stopped breathing.

“Breathe,” commanded Andrew, and Howard struggled to comply, gasping and moaning as Andrew stroked him from inside with long, skilled fingers. “Breathe, Howard.”

“Please,” Howard whined, hips twitching. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking for anymore. “Please, sir, I’m so close.”

“Isn’t it enough? Hmm, how about this?” Andrew’s other hand, slick with lube, wrapped around Howard’s neglected dick and gave it a firm stroke. Howard lost what little composure he had left, babbling and moaning, cuffs rattling against the bed frame. Andrew was pumping his cock and fucking Howard’s ass with his fingers and it was suddenly too much sensation all at once. Colors burst behind Howard’s eyelids as he came harder than he had in ages.

When he was aware of himself again, his face was wet and his chest was heaving with sobs. Andrew unhooked the cuffs and helped him stand. He led Howard to the Aftercare Room, set him down on a bed. Andrew removed the cuffs and rubbed gently at the reddened skin of Howard’s wrists, planting kisses on them like reassurances. Or apologies. Howard numbly sat through these ministrations.

Andrew drew him down onto the bed for a cuddle, and the warmth of Andrew’s body against his helped bring Howard back to the moment. Howard burrowed in close, inhaling the scents of leather and musky sweat and the faint tang of sex. Andrew stroked a hand down his back, over and over.

Howard spoke first. “I want you to know, I… I’m sorry for everything. For how bad things were, between us. And I want you to be happy. I want Bret to be happy, too. So… take care of each other, okay?”

“This isn’t goodbye,” murmured Andrew, his hand tightening briefly on the back of Howard’s neck.

“But what if it is?” Howard’s voice was small. “What if I’m next?”

Andrew’s hand paused and he drew Howard closer, resting their foreheads together. “We’re going to take care of each other, like you said. We’re family. You’re my brother.”

“Don’t make it incestuous,” Howard teased, but Andrew wasn’t smiling. “I know, I know. I… I know I don’t say it, but… I love you, man.”

“I love you, too.”

They kissed, and Howard realized that it was for the first time. It might be the last, too.

“Thank you,” whispered Howard.

…

Howard sat by the fire with the others as the luminary lanterns were sent up in flame, carrying their messages to the dead. Rain sat beside him.

“Thanks for your help with the song, again,” said Howard. Rain nodded and slung an arm over his shoulders.

Howard felt a little woozy again, so he faded in and out as Rain rambled about the stars, and about how fucked up life was. Rain always spoke in a way that made Howard a little dizzy, anyway. They watched the luminaries together.

Howard approached the fire. “I didn’t make a luminary, but if I could, I’d let you all write your words on my skin and carry your messages in my heart, and throw myself in the fire.”

“Son, you will not throw yourself in the fire,” Steven told him sternly. Howard gave him a chagrined smile and nodded.

“All right, all right…”

…

The green drink pulled thoughts up from deep inside Howard, and he couldn’t escape them.

_You can’t be like those poor boys in the loft._

_It’s too much._

_You can’t be a burden on Pepper and everyone else._

_It would be better if you just said goodbye now._

Howard spent the rest of the evening finding everyone at the party he knew. He was a little drunk, and a little wobbly, and nobody thought twice about his sappy declarations of affection and appreciation. He told everyone just how much they meant to him, and thanked them for having an impact on his life. He got a lot of laughter, hugs, a few sloppy kisses, and “Okay, Howard, go to bed, you’re drunk.” By the time people were filtering off towards bed, he’d talked to just about everybody.

At breakfast, he was subdued. He spoke little, but he exchanged numerous hugs, kisses, and brief squeezes of hands with folks as they came through the line for coffee and oatmeal.

It was time to say goodbye.

He was ready.

…

A week after Mr. T’s party, Pepper found Howard in the bathtub of their small apartment. He had a needle in his arm and a poorly written note beside him, with the S’s written backwards and words scratched out and misspelled.

_Im so sory. I dint want to go out slow and paneful lik the boys in the loft. I thru myself into the fire. Pleez forgiv me. I love all of you so much ( ~~esp~~ — ~~esep~~ — espeshuly Pepper)._

_Its ok. The voises are quiet now._

_Love,_  
_Howard_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Howard sings at open mic is "We Will Meet Again" by Vast (used without permission), though in this universe and story it was written and performed by Howard. One of many artistic liberties and anachronisms found in this story.


	4. Pip's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where the meta writing comes in. Here are my experiences as Pip, the player of Howard, in Just a Little Lovin'.

_I was Howard, and now I’m Pippin._

When Jon told me about Just a Little Lovin’, it was at WisCon 2017, the feminist literary sci-fi convention where we first met a few years ago. It sounded intimidating: a whole week of immersive LARP, $300, set in the early 1980’s during the AIDS crisis. I trusted Jon when he said it would be awesome, but I couldn’t justify the expense or the time away from reality. Then, he said they needed kitchen staff, and that I could get in for free if I were willing to cook, and I thought, Hey, I can do that! And then I was committed.

I’d cooked for groups of up to 120 people before at weekend LARP events, and still had to pay for my own ticket. This group wasn’t looking to be more than 60 and I’d be playing for free, albeit for less time than the other players. It was a reasonable compromise. I wasn’t even sure how much I’d like playing in that setting, after all. It seemed too depressing, too heavy. I was fine just being a ‘kitchen character’ who engaged in light-hearted banter with the other kitchen staff to make the chore of cooking and cleaning more fun. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

As my house has several couches and a couple extra beds, I was able to offer crash space to fellow LARPers from out of town. Jonaya was my first guest, and she was a perfect delight, equally at home with my cats and my precocious three-year-old niece. My partner Theo took us to where the charter bus was picking us up, not quite a mile from my home. I was a little nervous meeting so many new people at once, but I sought out the other two folks who would be staying with me post-LARP just to familiarize myself with their faces. Alexander, from Sweden, immediately gave me a hug. Renee lit up with recognition as well. Once the bus was loaded and I’d said goodbye to Theo, I made my way all the way to the back of the bus to hide. The back bench seat was three butts wide, which meant I had room to lie down and attempt to nap on the way. I didn’t. I was too anxious.

On arrival, I was surprised to find that my character sheet hadn’t been printed. I’d chosen Howard from the short list of available kitchen characters, who in the context of the game were employees of Pepper’s Diner. I’d only really read over his sheet properly once, so not having a copy of the sheet made me even more nervous. He was a paranoid schizophrenic with very confusing feelings about sexuality and gender. Could I really play Howard off the cuff? I didn’t have much time to worry, though, as I needed to set up my bunk and get to the kitchen.

My bunk was transformed into a blanket fort. I was dismayed to find that there were no in-bunk bathrooms, and that I had to walk to a separate lodge for toilets and showers. This was going to make middle-of-the-night bathroom trips super fun. There was no food or supplies in the kitchen yet, so I joined the others for the introductory speech. I don’t remember what was discussed aside from basic campground rules and names of organizers, which I promptly forgot and had to relearn later anyway. The truck finally arrived with all of the food we’d need for the week and some kitchen supplies. Amy, who would be playing Priest of Pepper’s Diner, was the only other member of the kitchen crew there. Wendy (player of the titular Pepper) would be joining us later in the evening.

We quickly discovered that this kitchen had next to nothing in the way of pans, pots, or utensils. We focused on putting away as much food as possible and hoped that someone was coming with supplies. Thankfully, they were. We were able to get dinner started, a bit later than the projected time. We put pasta and water into chafing pans in the oven to cook, since we didn’t have enough pots to boil the pasta AND heat up the sauce. Chris, who would be playing Bruce, was kind enough to help us with the garlic bread. Katherine helped out in the kitchen as well. We somehow managed to get food out before there was a riot.

At some point there were workshops. I participated in a few, but my anxiety was overcoming my usual extroverted nature. Eye contact made me giggle and fidget. Hugs were a little better. Gentle caresses of the arm, shoulder, neck… more giggling. I can’t do this, I thought. I’m just going to annoy everyone because they’ll think I can’t take it seriously. I resolved yet again to spend my week hiding in the kitchen.

Wendy’s arrival smoothed things out considerably. The next day was much easier. I was able to let Wendy take charge, and just perform the tasks I was given. I scrambled piles of eggs. Everyone was very kind and complimentary about the food.

I missed out on some of the key workshops, particularly the ones that covered how the “feather” mechanics worked. I learned later that blue and black feathers are used to invite other players into a Black Box scene, which was any scene that either didn’t take place in “real time” during the game (flashbacks, future scenes, dream sequences, hypothetical situations, etc) or were too intense or dealt with sensitive subject matter that needed to be kept out of the main play spaces. Blue feathers were for when you wanted to invite those specific characters into a scene, black feathers were for scenes focused on the feather-holder’s character, and the other players played different roles. Pink feathers were for initiating a sex scene. The sex was simulated: no genital touching allowed, and all other physical boundaries had to be negotiated beforehand between the players. Everything from actual makeouts and dry humping to simply miming the actions in the air at each other were fair game. Anything penetrative or that could be seen as an HIV infection risk was played with a phallus prop, which could be covered with a condom to imply that the characters had used protection. It all seemed very silly and again, I had trouble controlling my nervous giggles as I waved a pink feather at a practice partner and bumped hips sideways to simulate sex. Despite my nerves, I was curious to see how it worked in game, and decided to give it a try if I had time after my kitchen duties were done in the evening.

There were three days, or acts, of actual roleplay. Each day of play represented a different year, from ‘82-’84. Each act took place during Mr. T’s big gay Fourth of July party (catered by Pepper’s Diner, of course). Black box scenes and workshop negotiations determined key events that happened between those parties. It allowed for a unique narrative structure to support dramatic character and relationship arcs, as a character could be drastically different from one “year” to the next. The three acts followed the themes of Desire, Fear of Death, and Friendship.

I got into costume during the break and returned to the kitchen for prep. Game officially started at 5pm. Folks did double-takes and complimented my fake facial hair and darkened eyebrows, all courtesy of a cool brown matte eyeshadow and stippling sponge. Between that and my binder, I felt confident about playing a cisgender man. I’d played male characters before, for many years, even before I’d come out as genderqueer or transgender myself. This was familiar and comforting in a way. I slipped into Howard’s skin pretty quickly, exchanging the expected banter with Pepper and Priest in the kitchen and feeling out those relationships. I ended up dropping “dude” into my speech way more frequently than I’d planned.

By the end of the night, Howard had received a pink feather that changed his entire character trajectory, and had initiated a second scene with a different character that led to a completely different sort of sex scene. I started to think that maybe I was going to have more fun with this game than previously anticipated. I was really starting to enjoy being Howard.

In the morning, I did as much as I could to help with breakfast before I had to jump into a second costume: the Angel of Death. This character was far less like me, as a very femme-presenting, mostly silent, dignified, ominous figure. She was a blast to play, though. I am a fictional sadist, in that I like making people cry for fictional reasons only. Being the Angel of Death meant that I had to set aside any personal feelings (or Howard’s feelings) for characters that died and simply be aloof as I read the second and third verses of the Star Spangled Banner. It’s very different and powerful when read as poetry. Then, we listened to the song “Just a Little Lovin’” by Dusty Springfield, and act one was complete.

There were more workshops, which thanks to Wendy’s expert kitchen wrangling I was able to attend. I was more enthusiastic about playing again that evening. During lunch, I chatted with the Cruiser’s Club, and we agreed that it made sense for Howard to join them after the previous “year’s” events. So, the leather vests in my suitcase weren’t going to be loaned out to other players after all; I was going to use them for Howard. It was an unplanned change to the character that thankfully worked out really well in terms of costuming as well as story.

The weather was rainy and a bit miserable, which reflected the second act’s theme of Fear of Death. Howard got slightly less satisfying play this act, but still a few good and important scenes. I came up with the idea that Howard enjoyed BDSM play with the Cruiser’s Club because having someone with a face tell him what to do helped keep the voices in his head quiet. It was more like therapy than sex for him.

  
I stayed up later this night, which I regretted the next morning when it was obvious I was starting to get sick. But I made pancakes, and I played Death, and the body count was higher this time around. Debriefs, lunch, and I took a little rest during the break before helping with dinner prep.

I had decided that it would make sense for Howard, despite all his care and precaution, to contract AIDS. He, as well as the rest of the kitchen characters, were technically immune from the lottery of death. But my brain was rolling at full tilt and I wanted to push his character further. I spontaneously signed up for the open mic night after the drag show and did a short speech and a Capella performance of “We Will Meet Again” by Vast. By that evening, I’d realized that he wasn’t the sort of character that would lie around waiting for death. He was going to take his own life. The realization hit like a punch to the gut, but no matter how I tried to work out another solution, I kept coming back to that one. Howard needed to die, and it needed to be by his own hand. That was how his story ended.

After talking it over with some of the organizers and a few players, I was able to play out Howard’s last conversations with some characters as a Black Box scene. Then, as the Angel of Death, I was allowed to call out Howard’s name among the others, even though I obviously couldn’t lie in a coffin with a black shroud on to represent his body. It was emotionally intense and overwhelming, but as the Angel of Death I had to remain cool and unaffected. I almost broke down during Chris (Bruce) singing a beautiful song that, as I learned later, he’d sung with the Gay Men’s Choir.

Debriefs. Lunch. At some point, the emotional backlash, heavy character bleed, lack of sleep, too much caffeine, fighting a cold, and working my butt off in the kitchen all caught up to me at once. I fainted. This happens to me sometimes but it never gets less embarrassing or inconvenient. I was banned from the kitchen for the rest of the day and not allowed to help with cleanup. I felt miserable and useless, though I understood the logic and that people were just looking out for me. Since I couldn't help, I packed my bunk and took a shower instead. I attended as much of the debrief activities as possible, and even made it to the guest speaker presentations. Chris Oakleaf, who had been playing Bruce, revealed that he had actually lived through this time and place as a gay man, and provided context with his real lived experiences. I was overcome with emotion and had to collect myself in the bathroom. We also heard from Gav, one of the other players whose family was genetically predisposed to certain types of cancer (another subject that came up often in the LARP), and a young man living with HIV who worked for a local youth AIDS outreach program called YAP. Their stories did so much to contextualize what we’d been playing all week, and to drive home the fact that this was more than just a game.

I didn’t attend much of the after party, as I was still sick, but I did creep out from the cabin long enough for cake and beer. I had some great conversations, especially with Chris Oakleaf, who was my lovely bunk neighbor, and Tor, who was the creator of Just a Little Lovin’. I discovered that he’d also written a one-shot LARP I’d played with LARP House, called Limbo. What a genius rockstar! I was so honored to meet Tor and speak with him in person, and as it turns out he’s a total sweetheart to boot.

I couldn’t sleep well that night and wound up waking up at 4:30am, well before breakfast. I looked at the stars and watched a couple of Perseid meteors zip through the clear sky. I busied myself around the main lodge by picking up party trash and cleaning up what I could, then I set out breakfast cereal and bowls. It was my slightly petty way of proving I was still capable of helping out, while nobody was around to tell me I couldn't. By the time breakfast was over, my lack of sleep had caught up with me. I managed to get my luggage out to where the bus would be arriving to take us home, and then I just sat down and tried to rest. I felt a heavy melancholy, like I had just made fifty new best friends and now I had to leave them behind. Goodbye hugs dragged on for longer than they should have. We promised to stay in touch.

The bus took us back to Saint Paul and most of us had already seen news on our phones of the atrocities 2017 had wrought while we were away. We actually bemoaned leaving the bubble of 1984 and the AIDS crisis for the politics of today. None of us were ready to say goodbye. We broke into a couple of groups for lunch upon arrival in the city, and then I took my guests home for some well-deserved rest before meeting up yet again for dinner and partying at the Gay 90’s. I didn’t make it to the 90’s, which I regret, but I know I wouldn’t have survived it.

Jonaya and Alexander crept into the house early in the morning after partying all night, like teenagers trying not to get caught by their parents. Renee had to leave shortly after they returned. Jonaya left later that day. I was sleeping and didn't say goodbye to either of them properly, but I did get to have dinner with Jonaya before she left town for good.

The following Wednesday, I said goodbye to my last houseguest, Alexander. It was like letting go of the last piece of JALL that I had with me. It was hard. I miss everyone so much, even though I know I’m lucky in having several other JALL players living local here in Minnesota. I haven’t been off the Facebook page since arriving back in civilization. I’m not really alone.

Just a Little Lovin’ has changed me fundamentally as a person. It taught me things about queer history that they didn’t even whisper about in school. It taught me things about myself that I never would have guessed. It brought me together with fifty some other people as we went back in time and lived an entire other lifetime in less than a week. It taught me how to negotiate sex and relationships in a straightforward manner. It has spoiled me for pretty much all other roleplaying games, though I will continue to enjoy them— I’ll just always be comparing them with my JALL experience.

I will never forget this experience and forever be grateful for having lived it. Thank you, JALL. Thank you, Howard.

_I was Howard, and now I am Pippin._

 

 

 


	5. Dear Howard (and the Angel of Death)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters to the characters I played in JaLL

Dear Howard,

I'm so glad I got to meet you. Your story was a wild ride from start to finish, with such deep relationships and satisfying arcs and dramatic changes at every turn. I was surprised how attached to you I became, and how much it broke my heart when I realized how your story would end. I'm glad that through you I was able to meet so many colorful, wonderful people. You wore your heart on your sleeve, which was really hard to do in a leather vest.

I hope you're at peace, and that the voices are finally silent. Thank you for sharing your world with me. I love you.

Love,   
Pippin

Ps please stop saying "dude" like it's a verbal punctuation mark. Seriously dude.

 

. . .

 

 

  
Dear Angel of Death,

Give your employees a raise and some vacation days, for fucks sake. They work so hard and all you do is stand there ominously. Looking sharp, though, keep it up.

Love,  
Pippin


	6. The Angel of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure what this is. Meta-prose? Poetry? Rambling stream of consciousness pretentious nonsense?
> 
> The Angel of Death was an NPC, not even a proper character, but I spent a lot of time inhabiting her and thinking about her while waiting for my cues. She should have been little more than set dressing, the personification of a concept, just another guide for the players through a metaphorical funeral. And yet. 
> 
> Well. Here’s a thing I wrote for her.

 

...

 

I wait for them.

Patience isn’t even the correct word. I am so old that words like “ancient”, “patient”, and “time” seem as ephemeral and new as humans themselves. They burst into this existence bright and screaming, tiny flames that all too swiftly flicker out. So many with wicks left to burn, the wax barely melted, snuffed prematurely.

Dark waves move through them any time the candlelight threatens to become a wildfire. War, famine, disease. Lights dim and cower against these extinguishing forces, only to creep back out of hiding to burn all the brighter when they pass. This new plague is no different. It takes young and old, men and women. They assign blame and shun the sick out of fear for their own brief lives. They scream in anguish as loved ones succumb to a disease that passes through blood and sex. They gain understanding too slowly, too late.

I take them all. Their hands tremble in mine as I lead them to where they are wrapped in shrouds of eternity. “It’s time,” I tell the reluctant. To the sorrowful, I say, “It’s all right.”

To the ones who try to burn too quickly, I whisper in their ears: “Slow down. Your turn will come soon enough.”

My colleagues are younger than I am. They are new to this task, their hearts still so gentle. _Why must we take so many?_ they cry. _They’re so young._

They are so young.

“There is a purpose,” I remind them.

I’m fond of my colleagues, as I am fond of every soul that passes through my hands. I do not weep for them only because my tears crystallized into stars eons ago. But I am not so unfeeling as my poor Bureaucrats might believe. I grieve for the flames snuffed too soon, and for the ones that still burn alone when the others around them have winked out. My heart carries their voices even when no living creature remembers their names.

There is a purpose.

A woman curses me, as though she can see me standing beside her, as I lead her friends and family into the place where she cannot follow them. Not yet. I blow her a kiss. Soon enough.

The Bureaucrats are exhausted, tallying souls and drawing names from the hat in an endless lottery. Their eyes are rimmed red. I smile at them. I can feel their shoulders alternately sag and tense when I take them gently by the elbows, drawing them in close. I feel a great surge of affection for them. My Bureaucrats.

“We have quotas to meet.”


End file.
